Fall in love with the process.

I’m trying to fall in love with this process, but I think I’m hating small sections of myself more and more instead.

I always wonder if this is who I am; a web of smiles and mindless responses. Someone incapable of saying what I think, or even fucking knowing what I want.

Or am I the illusions that I convince myself as fact? Telling my friends and loved ones; this time I’m good, this time it’s better.

I am hypocrisy. I’ll do, say or be one thing. Then judge it the next.

I am inconsistent.

I am a mess.

I’m sick of thinking this time I’ve got it. I’m actually good this time, only to be obnoxious as fuck.

They keep telling me it’s a roller coaster. It’s a process. I won’t get it right straight away, and I’ll have to keep trying. There’ll be times I crash, and need to keep going.

But what if I’ve already played the groundhog day role? I’ve seen this deja vu too many times.

I’m sick of never knowing what to expect, feeling like a different person when I’m depressed or angry. The pressure of anxiety on my chest, cutting my breath short and reducing oxygen to an already panicked mind. The endless loops of guilt that slash my self esteem to the defeated confetti at the end of a night. I convince myself each whisper, giggle or sneer is directed at me. The world hates me, and so do I. This moronic obsession with the uncontrollables in life. The neurotic burden of thinking everything is my fault. Then the paralysing laziness, that sentences me to repeat the fucking loop.

Or maybe it’s the completely bizarre idealism that lives within me. Spurs the loop into movement. This completely alien flower in a sea of decimated hope.

Continue the fucking process then.

Fall in love with it.

May as well.